the past--that first year when we loved each other and were
happy. Wait; I have nearly finished. I am going out of your life
forever--it is the only atonement I can make. But will you let me go
without a sign of forgiveness?--without a soft word?"

For a moment there was silence. Diane waited with rigid face. She had
forgotten the purpose that brought her to the studio--a womanly impulse,
started to life by the memories of the past, had softened her heart. But
Jack, blinded by passion and his great wrongs, little dreamed of the
chance that he was throwing away.

"You talk of forgiveness!" he cried. "Why, I only wonder that I can
keep my hands off your throat. I hate the sight of you--I curse the day
I first saw your face! Do you know what you have done, by letting me
believe that you were dead? You have probably broken the heart of one
who is as good and pure as you are vile and treacherous--the woman whom
I love and would have married."

Diane's features hardened, and a sudden rage flashed in her half-veiled
eyes; her repentant impulse died as quickly.

"So that is your answer!" she exclaimed, harshly. "And there is another
woman! You shall never marry her--never!"

"You fiend!"

The threat goaded Jack to fury, and he might have lost his self-control.
But just then quick footsteps fell timely on his ear.

"Get behind that screen, or go into the next room," he muttered. "No; it
won't matter--it must be Nevill."

Diane held her ground.

"I don't care who it is," she said, shrilly. "I will tell the world that
I am your wife."

The next instant the door was thrown open, and a woman entered the
studio and came hesitatingly forward under the glare of the gas-jets.
With a rapid movement she partly tore off her long, hooded cloak, which
was dripping with rain. Jack quivered as though he had been struck a
blow.

"Madge!" he gasped, recognizing the lovely, agitated face.

The girl caught her breath, and looked from one to the other--from the
painted and powdered woman to the man who had won her love. Her bosom
heaved, and her flushed cheeks turned to the whiteness of marble.

"Jack, tell me--is it true?" she pleaded, struggling with each word. "I
should not have come, but--but I received this an hour ago." She flung a
crumpled letter at his feet, and he picked it up mechanically. "It said
that I would find you here with your--your--" She could not utter the
word. "I had to come," she added. "I could not rest. An